


Portrait

by consumptive_sphinx



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Art Class AU, High School AU, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5267783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consumptive_sphinx/pseuds/consumptive_sphinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamilton is glaring at him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters 2 and 3 at the request of you guys; if there's any other perspective you'd like to see, I'll see what I can do.

Hamilton is glaring at him. 

It's not obvious, but Aaron can tell. Hamilton's glare is just as intense as the rest of him, and right now it's aimed directly at Aaron's left arm. The feeling is disconcerting, to say the least. 

"What, exactly, has my wrist done to offend you?" Aaron doesn't look up from his sketching, but in his peripheral vision he can see Hamilton jump. 

"Ah — nothing. Sorry." Aaron doubts that Hamilton has ever sounded more awkward in his life. 

_Good._

 

Hamilton's projects for art class are all snippets of people. Snippets of one person, if Aaron's being accurate: a bared shoulder, the texture of buzz-cut hair, a single dark brown eye. Nobody is certain who they're of, but they're all beautiful. 

Today, Aaron notices, Hamilton's turned in a picture of his mystery subject's left hand, curled over a piece of paper —

— is that Aaron's watch?

 

Aaron doesn't mention it to Alexander, but he watches more closely after that. 

Alexander turns in the crooked smile that Aaron uses when Alexander's comment was funny but he doesn't want to encourage him, the ridge of Aaron's spine visible through a dark green shirt, and Aaron can't help but feel flattered by them. They're beautiful, even the ones that show the faint freckles Aaron's never been quite certain he liked or the frame he's always thought was too thin. _He's_ beautiful.

All of Aaron's paintings that he turns in have subjects that are carefully neutral — a towering pile of textbooks on the kitchen table, a pair of yellow Converse hightops hanging from a telephone wire — meaningless enough that you can't tell anything about him, but significant enough that you can't tell that he's doing it on purpose. But his personal sketchbook fills up with Alexander's form, Alexander's features. 

If anybody were to look through that sketchbook, Aaron would have to kill them to maintain his dignity. 

 

Their final in art class is a portrait. 

"The subject can be anyone you like," Washington says, "but we have to be able to tell who it is." (He looks pointedly at Alexander.) "Any style is alright, but there should be a purpose to what you choose." Beyond a fairly basic size requirement — "I want a portrait, Thomas, not a pretentious roll of wallpaper" — that's all the instruction they're given. 

Aaron knows who he wants to paint: one of his cousins, or maybe his uncle. Close enough to him that Washington will be happy, but distant enough that he can maintain neutrality. But whenever he sits down and does the preliminary sketches, all he seems to be able to draw is Alexander. 

He will not turn in a full-sized portrait of Alexander Hamilton for his final. 

He will not. 

 

...he turns in a full-sized portrait of Alexander Hamilton for his final. 

Most of Aaron's pictures are done with photographic realism, in slightly muted colours. Not this one — its looser, the brushstrokes wide, the colours bright and warm. It's meant to convey Alexander's energy, not his precise features. Aaron almost scraps the whole thing (too open, too revealing, the idea of anyone seeing it feels like stripping naked in public) and paints his cousin like he'd planned, but he doesn't. 

He's prouder of this than he's ever been of anything. 

 

Alexander, of course, turns in a portrait of Aaron, curled up with a book in the bleachers. 

It's gorgeous, like all of Alexander's drawings. The colours are soft blues and greys, shaded in gentle coloured pencils with obvious love. Aaron's worry about his own picture was misplaced — his expression in Alexander's is more open than he ever lets himself show in public. 

Everybody in the class is staring at them. Aaron expected to mind more than he does. 

 

"So. Aaron. Um."

Never mind. This is the most awkward Alexander's ever sounded in his life. 

Aaron has already thrown caution and reticence out the window, why not go all the way. "Alexander, can I kiss you?" There are a few students still in the room, but most have left and Washington is gone. 

Alexander blinks twice and nods. "Please, do."

 

It's ten minutes later when Washington arrives, and Aaron and Alexander still haven't separated. 

They honestly don't notice until he clears his throat, loudly, behind them and says, "Aaron, if you could wait until you are out of my classroom before you start undressing my son, that would be excellent."

The two of them do break apart then, with a "sorry, sir," and a "sorry, Dad." Alexander's shirt is unbuttoned to the waist; his pants are still all the way on but in six more minutes that wouldn't have been true. They look at each other, laugh, and get up to go, Alexander's shirt still mostly open.

 

("We're such dorks," Alexander says about it later. He's completely right.)


	2. Chapter 2

It starts with an idle sketch.

Alexander isn’t thinking about it, really. Just thinking, and drawing while he does it.

But for some reason, when he looks down at his page, he’s drawn Aaron Burr - smiling out of the page the way he smiles at his sister, gentle and kind. Burr is more emotive than he likes to think.

Alexander doesn’t think anything of it.

 

But it keeps happening.

He doesn’t want to turn in a fully-finished picture of Aaron Burr’s eyes like some lovestruck twelve-year-old. But at the time it’s all he can draw, all his fingers will produce.

At least George doesn’t seem to recognize who it is.

 

Alexander can’t stop talking about him either - he has no beliefs, if it weren’t for Sally I’d think he had no emotions at all, but he’s cute and smart and _Dad what do I do -_

(George sighs and asks Martha to put whiskey in his coffee.)

 

The pictures of Aaron keep coming.

One freckled shoulder (it’s an absurdly hot day for October and everyone’s got tank tops on, even prim-and-proper Aaron), braided black hair (the way it reflects light is interesting, okay?!), his hand (oh god he almost got found out on that one, at least Aaron thought Alexander was glaring at him). He’s embarrassed by it but can’t seem to stop.

(Lafayette’s peals of laughter didn’t help.)

 

It’s not like there’s any question as to who Alexander is going to draw for his final, but what precisely he’ll draw he isn’t certain.

Until he sees Aaron in the bleachers at some mindless pep rally, trapped in a book. His face is so open, in a way that Alexander has never seen before, in all his hours of watching.

Of course.

 

Oh god. Oh god. This was a mistake. What’s he going to think? What’s he going to say? It’s going to be obvious that Alexander was spying on him, oh god this was a mistake but it’s not like Alexander can turn back now.

...And then, Aaron turns in a painting of Alexander, at his desk and working furiously. The colors are loose and wide; it looks almost Impressionist - a far cry from Aaron’s usual style, which is perfect realism. Everyone is staring at them, George is incredibly self-satisfied, and Aaron is smiling. Not like he does at Sally, like he used to at Theodosia.

And then Aaron is asking Alexander, _can I kiss you?_ and of course Alexander says yes - and it’s perfect.

 

The drive home with George that day is capital-A Awkward. John and Lafayette and Hercules will never, ever, let him forget the last two months.

The pros still outweigh the cons.


	3. Chapter 3

Alexander has turned in a picture of one single eye, filling up the entire page.

For the first few days, George thinks little of it. Alexander’s choice of subject matter is usually a little bit odd, and there’s no reason to believe there’s anything different about this drawing -

\- and then, for his next assignment, Alexander turns in a picture of a freckled shoulder.

Okay.

Um.

 

This coincides roughly with Alexander starting to constantly gush about his classmate, Aaron Burr. 

George has Suspicions.

 

They’re confirmed remarkably quickly.

Alexander keeps on turning in drawings of Aaron: his hair in a black-and-white assignment, his back in a don’t-use-your-preferred-medium one. George tries to assign a nature picture, and Alexander draws the sky, framed by Aaron’s throat and jawline.

The worst part is, Alexander thinks he’s being subtle about it. And maybe he even _is,_ since Aaron doesn’t seem to notice.

George sighs, and asks Martha to put whisky in his coffee.

 

And then, Alexander stops even trying to be subtle.

He turns in a portrait of Aaron for his final, entranced by a book. It’s uncomfortably intimate, and George internally groans as he imagines grading it.

...and _then,_ Aaron turns in a portrait of Alexander, also uncomfortably intimate. 

Oh good Lord, these two are going to be the death of him. George doesn’t regret adopting Alexander and never will, but _why why why_ does he have to be so _insufferable -_

\- oh, and they’re making out in the middle of the classroom.

Of _course._

 

They don’t speak during the drive home. George just hopes that Alexander can’t tell how utterly _done_ he is.

(He can.)

**Author's Note:**

> In the comments on page 1 is a version from Alexander's POV. In page 2 of the comments is another from Washington's.
> 
> Thank you guys for all the attention and love this has gotten!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ink and charcoal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10923678) by [procrastinatingbookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinatingbookworm/pseuds/procrastinatingbookworm)




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